Remembrance
by Ani-maniac494
Summary: Though many years had passed since the Battle of the Five Armies, Gimli still missed his cousins. Someone else did as well. Movieverse. Set shortly before The Fellowship of the Ring. Implied Kili/Tauriel.


Spoilers: Major spoilers for The Hobbit: Battle of the Five Armies, and tiny spoilers for the Lord of the Rings trilogy.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Hobbit or Lord of the Rings, but I don't suppose Kíli is for sale? Please? *looks hopeful*

A/N: I've heard that in book chronology, Gimli would have been 79 during the Hobbit, while the movie seems to have portrayed him as being younger than that, because Glóin calls him "my wee lad." I decided to use the movie's chronology, since, for this fic, I think it offers a good explanation for why Gimli wasn't with the Company. :)

As always, I thank my Lord Jesus Christ for his incredible mercy and grace and his many blessings. I would be utterly lost without him.

I hope you enjoy it, and please let me know what you think!

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 **Remembrance**

Gimli thought often about his cousins.

It was difficult not to. When the few remaining members of the Company met together - and his father with them - they still mourned those they had lost, even those who had fallen so long ago in the Battle of the Five Armies. There had been other losses since then, some painful indeed, but the sting of that particular blow never quite seemed to fade.

Of course, to Erebor at large, Thorin and his nephews were heroes, heroes who were gradually passing into legend. Songs had been written about them, ballads extolling their bravery and might or lamenting their end. One young maid of Gimli's acquaintance had even written several lengthy verses celebrating the glory that was Kíli's beard (Gimli hadn't the heart to tell her that his dear cousin had never had much of a beard to speak of).

The songs painted them as fearless warriors, brave champions who had willingly lain down their lives for their people. There was some truth in that to be sure, but that was not how Gimli remembered them.

He remembered Kíli's cheeky grin and Fíli's sly smirk. He remembered the sound of Kíli's hearty laughter and Fíli's low chuckle. He remembered the way Fíli would slap his back in greeting, and the way Kíli would sneak him sweets when his mother wasn't looking. He remembered nights spent 'round the fire, jokes shared, and pranks gone awry.

Thorin, his elder cousin, he had not known as well, but he remembered Thorin's tired blue eyes, the subtle way the hard lines of his face seemed to soften around his nephews, and the deep rumble of his voice when he sang.

Those were the cousins he missed. The cousins he mourned.

Maybe it was because they were so often in his thoughts that Gimli did not usually feel it necessary to visit their graves. His memories of them were warm and alive, and the royal crypts seemed cold and bleak in comparison, grand though they were.

But, this day, he had found himself drawn to his cousins' tombs all the same. He could not say why.

Perhaps it was the growing darkness in Middle Earth, a darkness none could now deny. Long, hard days lay ahead, he had no doubt, and though he was a dwarf grown, and had seen many more winters than either of his cousins had lived to experience, he wished that he still had Fíli's blades and Kíli's bow to guard his back.

Gimli's pace slowed as he reached the entrance to the burial chamber. The doors were always left open in silent invitation, shining in the light of the torches burning along the walls. They were solid gold, inlaid with some of the finest gems the Mountain had ever produced, and they were surrounded by intricately carved stone murals, depicting scenes from some of the greatest battles in dwarven history.

The Battle of the Five Armies had been given a special place of honor, situated between two pillars, framed by an elaborate archway. Almost without thought, Gimli paused as his eyes found his cousins' distinctive silhouettes in the stonework. The sculptor had rightly depicted them together, just as they always had been.

Even now, they remained side by side.

Gimli sighed softly, his gaze drifting to the burial chamber beyond.

He blinked in sudden surprise. He wasn't alone, as he'd expected to be. Instead, a cloaked figure was kneeling beside Kíli's tomb…a figure too large to be a dwarf.

It wasn't entirely unheard of for Men to visit the royal crypts, but they were usually diplomatic envoys from Dale, hoping to impress the people of Erebor with their gestures of respect. No such envoy currently resided within the Mountain.

Growing suspicious, Gimli squinted into the relative darkness.

The figure wore a forest-green cloak that was long and hooded, the trailing fabric pooling on the cold stone floor. Gimli felt a sharp stab of outrage when the figure's head turned just enough for him to see the tip of a delicate, pointed ear.

An Elf! An Elf in the royal crypts!

Blood boiling, Gimli strode forward, his heavy footfalls echoing in the chamber.

"Elf!" he shouted.

She - he assumed that it was a she, though with Elves, he always found it rather hard to tell - turned and stood in response. The Elf's features were mostly hidden by the cowl, but he saw a dainty chin and full lips.

"How did you enter Erebor?" he snarled. "Answer me!"

The Elf seemed unmoved by his anger.

"I have a standing arrangement with Lord Bofur," she returned evenly, the lilting feminine tones confirming his assumptions about her gender.

Gimli scowled up at the she-elf, incredulous.

Bofur and the other surviving members of the Company had all been made Lords for their parts in reclaiming the Mountain, but the old dwarf cared more for a good drink than he did formality, and rarely used the trappings that came with his title, even now that his beard was long and gray. Why would Bofur help an Elf? And more importantly…

"What business would an Elf have _here_?" Gimli demanded, motioning to the tombs around them.

"The same business you have, I assume. To honor the dead."

Her voice almost seemed to waver on the last word, but Gimli was sure he'd imagined it.

"Did you know them?" she asked. "The Sons of Durin?"

There was a faint edge of challenge in her words and Gimli growled. How dare an _Elf_ question his presence here? As a dwarf alone he had more right to visit these tombs than this she-elf could ever claim!

He opened his mouth to tell her so, but the light caught something around her neck. It was a thick silver chain and a pendant made of stone. He saw at a glance that the stone was of little monetary worth, but large silver prongs held it securely in place. Runes marked the face of the stone. _Dwarven_ runes. He could not read them in the dim light, but he recognized their distinctive shape all the same.

Gimili's eyes narrowed. Surely an Elf would not wear such a thing without reason - though he couldn't fathom what such a reason might be - but perhaps it was cause enough to answer her.

"Aye, I knew them," he said at last, his tone sharp. "They were my cousins. My father, Glóin, was among the Company that retook Erebor, and he fought in the Battle of the Five Armies, where the Sons of Durin fell. What about you, Elf?"

"I knew them," she said simply.

It soon became clear that was all the she-elf intended to say, and Gimli bristled at the sheer audacity. "Listen here, Elf. You-"

But the Elf turned away from him, back towards Kíli's tomb, murmuring something in Elvish. She reach out a hand to trace the letters of Kíli's name, a slight tremor in her fingers, then she straightened once more.

"I shall leave you with your kin, Master Dwarf."

She gave a regal nod of her head, and for just a moment, her hood fell back enough to give him a glimpse of solemn green eyes and long red hair before she swept past him and out into the corridor.

Gimli turned to glare fiercely at her back, fuming, - _Elves!_ \- but he made no move to stop her.

The she-elf had done no wrong - not if she were telling the truth about her arrangement with Bofur. (He'd be having a word with the old dwarf this evening, that was certain.)

Gimli shook his head. What connection could an _Elf_ possibly have had with his cousins?

She'd seemed intent on Kíli's tomb - perhaps he was the one she'd known best. But how in Durin's name had Kíli gotten tangled up with an Elf in the first place? Surely he hadn't befriended one of Thranduil's ilk. Gimli's lip curled as the Elf King's name crossed his thoughts. No, no, even Kíli would not have been as reckless as that. He must have met the she-elf elsewhere.

Gimli himself had been too young to journey from the Blue Mountains with the merchant caravans as Fíli and Kíli had, and he had only the vaguest memories of the stories the brothers had told him upon their return. But, Kíli had always been the friendly sort - talking easily with everyone, be they Men or Dwarves. Perhaps he'd met the she-elf while on the road and befriended her as well.

All the same…an Elf? An _Elf_?

Madness, utter madness.

 _No offense, Cousin_ , he thought, glancing at Kíli's tomb.

Befriending an Elf. Ha!

No matter what the coming days held, that, at least, was one terrible fate that would never befall him.

 **Fin**

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A/N: A quick note about the rune stone: I know that in BOTFA they have Tauriel place it in Kíli's hand in that scene where she's mourning him, but that doesn't mean it stayed there. :) I can't help thinking that she would have wanted something tangible to remember Kíli by. Perhaps someone in the Company even convinced her that Kíli would have wanted her to keep it. Of course, that's another story, one Gimli wouldn't know at this point. :)

I hope you enjoyed this, and please let me know what you think!

Take care and God bless!

Ani-maniac494 :)


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